


Hurt

by yer_a_fangirl_castiel



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Tragedy, Character Death, Hurt Merlin, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining Merlin, Poor Merlin, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Unrequited, Unrequited Love, suicidal Merlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-19
Packaged: 2018-12-31 17:56:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12137961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yer_a_fangirl_castiel/pseuds/yer_a_fangirl_castiel
Summary: Merlin is hurting and no one ever seems to notice.So one night, he lets go.





	Hurt

Night blanketed Camelot, smothering the kingdom with its inky smoke. A sliver of moon shone through the foreboding clouds, leaving no light to grace the corridor. 

The corridor, yes, the corridor inside the castle. The stone corridor, cold and unforgiving. It's icy walls trapped souls and forgave none. The windows along the passage were high above the ground, meant for protection, but served only to expose. 

And inside this wretched hallway stood a wretched man. Now this man was no ordinary man, for he was truly the greatest sorcerer to ever live. He stood in the deep shadows, concealing his dark ebony hair and arching cheekbones. The night covered his ivory skin and long, lean frame. 

He was something of a fairytale. He was the one in the fable who was so mysteriously, enthrallingly, gorgeous that none had the courage to ask him for a dance. The dark newcomer who stood alone, watching the couples whirl with colors of rose and auburn, untouched by their sunset of gowns. And then, of course, the prince swept forth, with a trusting smile and a laugh that could make fairies jealous. And the quiet one smiled, his silvery aura meeting the precious gold of another, and together they dance, swirling with their priceless love.

The man from the story would always get his happy ending.

And yet, the man from the corridor could not see himself reflected in this tale of love.

This man would never get his perfect, fairytale ending.

This is the story of this young man and his struggles. Please, back away if you wish not to read such things. No one is judging you. If you do continue, just be warned, this is not totally fictional. 

Back to the night, to the corridor, to the one in the shadows. No one went along this corridor anymore, it was in a forgotten part of the castle, remembered only by a servant. A servant by the name  
of  
Merlin. 

This man stayed firmly in the protective embrace of the shadows. He walked, quiet as a shadow himself, over to a lone bridge, connecting two solitary towers. The bridge had a low, arched window sill, fashioned of dark granite. The figure stepped into the frigid glare of moonlight, relinquishing his desperate grasp on the concealing darkness. Scars bared their horrible tips from the edge of his long sleeve, glowing sliver in the dim light. Ever so carefully, dainty steps brought him to the stone platform, and he cast his tortured sapphire gaze to the courtyard below. A small sigh escaped his lips when he confirmed that there was no one to steal away his moment of serenity. 

He was free. 

A long-fingered hand reached into his waistband as pulled out something that was long, thin, and deadly.  
This thing was simple, plain wooden hilt and short, unremarkable blade.  
But it glinted evilly in the crescent moon’s light. 

Now we shall delve into the mind of this young man, for what happens next is confusing to some. 

_“Good lord Merlin why are you so useless? Are you capable of doing anything? Anything at all?”_  
The words of his sovereign battered through his head and heart.  
_“What are you doing? I should get a new servant, one who won’t be as utterly incompetent”_  
These words were nothing out of the ordinary for this poor man.  
_“It’s been years, Merlin. You should know the difference between ragwort and yarrow.”_  
_“I’m sorry, I-”_  
_“You’re always full of excuses. I could train a five-year old quicker than you.”_  
_“But I-”_  
_“I don’t want to hear it.”_  
The accusations of his mentor, even when he was being worked to the bone.  
_“You useless, unwanted fag. I’d tell you to go back to your stupid village, but they obviously wouldn’t want your ugly face.”_  
_The servant trembled, unable to use magic to defend himself from the jeering knights._  
_“Coward won’t even fight back. Come on, wimp, there’s gotta be some backbone in that mess.”_  
Daily abuse from his least favorite knights.  
_“What I don’t understand is why Arthur lets a fag into his chambers. Everyone can see the despicable, unholy way you look at him. It’s almost as though you actually hope he’d return your filthy feelings.”_  
The grimy insult that hit a little too close to home.

And of course, this cumulated into his mind every night, a screeching, whirling mess of pain and doubt, a hurricane that could only be quenched with self-induced pain.

Every day dawned dark, hours before sunrise. Hastily completed chores and medicine preparation, his magic clumsy and uncertain. Berrated throughout the day, sprinting from place to place, barely eating to keep up with it all, always late, always useless, always not enough---

A shiver raced through the figure, but it was one of anticipation, not fear. Just the thought of release made the man relax, because for once, he would be in control of this great, heavy burden of destiny. Sleeves are hastily pulled upwards, revealing a patchwork of hidden, unhealed scars. These marks of self-hatred are swathed across the pearl-like skin, from his arms, to his underfed chest, to his hips-  
And the knife drives in, drawing new patterns, marking just one more night. As he cuts, his mind is finally clear of the phrases that cut deeper than any knife ever could. 

The slip of a knife is all it would take, a distraction. And the blade will slide his wrist, and the blood will drain slowly. Maybe a high up hiding place was a bad idea. The urge to jump is amplified here. 

A guard yells up, he sees a figure in the window  
Merlin’s grip slips  
The knife flashes  
And a long red slit runs down the pale arm  
He will not live if does not get help now.  
He waves off the guard, joking that it's only little Merlin.  
And sits, back against the stone windowsill  
Moonlight brushing the top of his head  
He lets the cold deep in  
And watches, fascinated, as his life slips away.  
He draws patterns in the crimson flood  
And the sun peeks up from the horizon, painting the landscape a lovely peach  
The sun does not understand  
No one understands

When he is found, later that day, he is passed out, peacefully, as though he is only sleeping  
His lips are stained garnet (he kissed the blood, thanking it)  
His hair is dripping with scarlet  
His skin is beyond pale, as white-blue as the cheerful clouds that now grace the sky  
An A is drawn in blood, but the rest of the word has drowned in the overwhelming tide  
If only Arthur  
Arthur  
Had loved him  
In return

A sound was heard, but it was not a cry  
It was not a yell, it was not a scream  
It was a combination of terrible things, of glass shards and pain and loss  
It was inhuman and the epitome of human loss all at once  
It was half a soul sensing it's other half dying  
Oh Arthur, you should have known  
Oh Arthur, oh Arthur

The sight of his love, soaked in blood, eyes closed  
Pure white skin, painted a rich, royal red  
Scars tracing up the delicate arms, proof of a tortured existence  
Lord help whoever caused this 

But in truth, it was Merlin’s own mind  
Ripping away, focusing on the negatives  
Screaming hurtful things 

Sometimes,  
It's not just another person  
It's themselves

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! This is my first fanfiction so comments and kudos are beyond appreciated!
> 
> I do not own Merlin. It belongs to BBC.


End file.
